


unspoken

by desastrista



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Florist AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 19:11:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9004453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/desastrista/pseuds/desastrista
Summary: When Kallias met Erasmus, it was at a holiday party for work. 
When Damen met Laurent, it was because he walked into the flowershop Laurent owned, went straight to the counter, and asked, “How do I say ‘fuck you’ in flowers?” 
Kallias and Erasmus are star-crossed lovers divided by a company prohibition on dating, Damen is working to fix that, and Laurent is the grouchy florist somehow caught in the middle. But more romance might bloom than expected. 
(Secret santa gift for Iam)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a prompt of Erasmus/Kallias, Damen/Laurent, and quirky AUs! I've wanted to do a florist AU for a while so thanks for providing me the opportunity, Iam! Happy holidays!

When Kallias met Erasmus, it was at a holiday party for work. They both reached for the same glass of wine, awkwardly drew away at the same time, and laughed about it. 

They started talking afterwards and kept talking long into the night. 

Kallias had not really thought he’d even be around to see this office party: he’d spent the last two months worried that he was going to be fired, only to find out last week that his terrible boss had been let go instead. Kallias was a free man at last! It had been a good week, and then meeting someone like Erasmus? It was starting to look like a great week. 

Erasmus was funny. He was sweet. He was handsome. 

It turned out that Erasmus also worked in HR. 

He mentioned it just as Kallias was finally working up the nerve to ask Erasmus out for some not-remotely-office-sanctioned drinks after the party ended. Human resources. The department most responsible for enforcing the company’s strict prohibition on any kind of inter-office romance. Erasmus said he had been working there for a few years. Kallias just smiled and tried to change the subject. 

That night, when he went home alone, he told himself that it had been a little crazy to think the full week would go well for him, after all. 

 

***** 

 

When Damen met Laurent, it was because he walked into the flowershop Laurent owned, went straight to the counter, and asked, “How do I say ‘fuck you’ in flowers?” 

It had been Nikandros’s idea. Kastor needed a sending-off gift. It had to be office appropriate, even if Damen’s feelings about what Kastor had done were probably not. According to Nikandros, flowers were often used to represent certain emotions; a bouquet could convey what words could not. 

And sometimes what they could convey was coded obscenities. 

But perhaps, in retrospect, Damen found himself thinking that he maybe should not have necessarily started the conversation with that request. Unless his goals had been to make the (strangely attractive) florist fix him with an icy stare, tell him in no uncertain terms to get out of the store, add in a few particularly colorful pieces of advice about the manner in which he could leave, and strongly encourage Damen to never come to the store again. 

In that case, it was an absolute success. 

 

*****

 

Once Kastor had left the office for good (and Damen had opted for a blander, more conventional parting gift in lieu of passive-aggressive flowers), Damen made an effort to check in with all the people his brother had been managing. Make sure they were okay, that they were getting adjusted to changes, all that kind of stuff. So when Damen saw Kallias grabbing coffee the morning after the office party, he decided he really did need that third cup he’d been thinking about getting. 

“What did you think of the party yesterday?” Damen asked. “Did you dance a lot? Meet anyone fun?” 

Kallias laughed. “Not a lot of dancing for me,” he said. “But – uh, there was someone.” Damen’s eyebrows raised almost of their volition. Kallias had started smiling, that hesitant but unstoppable smile that proclaimed its wearer to be both badly smitten and badly in denial about that fact. As Damen nodded in encouragement, Kallias added, “Really charming guy. Named Erasmus.” But his expression cleared and he gave a half-hearted shrug. “But he works in HR, so. You know how it is.” 

“Might be worth a shot,” Damen couldn’t help but say. “Did you get a number?” 

Kallias shook his head. “Didn’t ask, didn’t want to risk a very sternly worded letter from the HR department on my desk this morning.” There was a wistful note to his voice, but he shook his head. “I should get going back to work, though.” 

Kallias left the kitchen but Damen stayed behind, nursing his rapidly cooling mug and thinking about how he could make things right. After all the hell that Kastor had caused, Kallias deserved something nice. 

He spotted out of the corner of his eye some flowers that had been left on one of the tables in the kitchen, and Damen had his answer. 

 

*****

 

“Oh, it’s you,” Laurent said as Damen entered the flower shop. With his tone of voice, it sounded like an accusation. Damen didn’t think Laurent was being quite fair; it had been about a week since he had last been at the shop. “Get out.” 

“Look,” Damen began, “I know we might have gotten off on the wrong foot –.” 

The look he got in return was so withering that for a second Damen wondered if it might potentially damage some of the nearby merchandise. But he was not so easily deterred. He had a mission. He would see things right. “I want to order a bouquet,” he said. “A real bouquet,” he hastened to add, before Laurent could open his mouth to object. 

The look Laurent gave him was downgraded to a mere glower. “For whom?” 

It had been easy enough to find the information in the company directory. Damen got out the piece of paper on which he had written Erasmus’s work address. “I’m going to need some flowers. Sent to this address. Anonymously.” 

The cold look in Laurent’s eyes did not change, even as he raised an eyebrow in confusion. 

“I’m here to play matchmaker,” Damen explained. 

Laurent pinched the bridge of his nose. “Don’t make me throw you out again.” 

“It’s romantic!” Damen protested. When those words failed utterly to change Laurent’s expression, he added, “I’ll pay extra.” 

“Fine,” Laurent said with a sigh. “What flowers did you have in mind?” 

“Something – not too romantic. Not off the bat. Something that says friendship, but hints at something more.” 

Laurent blinked once and then twice. “You know,” he said slowly, “most people just ask for a specific _type_ of flower.” 

It was Damen’s turn to look offended. “I thought you florists were all about flower meanings and stuff. Red roses mean love, yellow roses mean friendship – other flowers mean other things, I guess. You know. That kind of thing.” 

Laurent merely shrugged in response. “I’m the wrong sibling to ask about that kind of thing. Never could remember it. Let me look,” he leaned behind the counter and pulled out an old, battered-looking notebook. “Yellow roses are friendship, you’re right. As for what you asked – sweet peas are supposed to represent shyness. That could work. Ooh, gardenia. Secret love.” 

Damen’s wallet was already in his hand. “Great. Both of them. Together. No note from the sender, no address. Just put your card on the flowers, and if the guy comes asking, tell him you’ll mail them to his admirer, but don’t say anything more about who sent it than that.” 

“Yeah,” Laurent responded. “I’ll make sure not to tell him that a guy who got himself kicked out of here once already is trying to play matchmaker via secret flower meanings. Finally, a plan of yours I actually like.” 

Damen took a deep breath and decided not to dignify that with a response. He left the cash and the paper on the counter in front of Laurent and turned to leave. Every matchmaker’s career had to start somewhere. His just happened to begin with an annoying, cranky florist. Things could be worse. 

 

***** 

 

Things calmed down at the shop. The requests were all completely normal: a simple bouquet before a date, some bright flowers for someone stuck in the hospital, cheerful flowers for someone’s mother. All the usual reasons people would buy flowers. 

There were, in fact, no oversized men bursting in with increasingly bizarre requests for bouquets.

Laurent spent a few hours thinking about that guy, then a few hours berating himself for wasting so much time thinking about someone he barely knew, before ultimately deciding to aggressively try and forget the guy had ever walked into his shop. 

As a plan, it almost worked. But then the day after the anonymous bouquet was actually delivered, someone walked into the store an hour before closing and asked about an order sent the day before. 

“Uh, it was delivered to my work address,” the man said, pausing a moment to push a golden curl away from where it had fallen in front of his face. He gave the address and Laurent paled as he found the name associated with that order in the system. 

“Do you know anything about who sent it? It caused –,” the man Laurent now knew to be Erasmus gave an almost embarrassed laugh, “quite the commotion at the office.” 

“The person who sent that wanted it to be sent anonymously,” Laurent responded automatically. His mouth apparently moved faster than his brain. Only after he said it did he realize that was what Damen had asked him to say; it was a convenient line to have ready because Laurent didn’t want to talk any more about Damen than he absolutely had to. 

He was surprised when the statement made Erasmus laugh. “Yeah, gardenia, secret admirer – whoever it is really committed himself to it. I’m impressed. Surprised and confused, but also impressed.” 

Laurent privately agreed with the first two adjectives supplied by that last sentence. He was not so sure about the third. 

“I’d like to send whoever sent me this something back. How about…,” Erasmus seemed to consider. “Lily of the valley. That should work.”

Laurent reached for the book before he went to ring up the order. It took him a second to find it. “Return of happiness,” he read out loud. When he looked up, Erasmus was smiling. 

“I’m a bit jealous of your job,” Erasmus said, all at once. “Secret admirers, hidden meanings. It’s all very romantic.” 

Laurent let out a huff. “If you say so,” he muttered under his breath. Erasmus looked politely confused. Laurent added, “These types of jobs – they’re the exception.” His mind returned to Damen. “Very much the exception.” He shook his head. “Most of it is mundane stuff.” 

“I work in HR,” Erasmus countered. “There’s very little romance there. In fact, we actively try to ensure romance does not flourish there.” 

“Maybe that’s why you have someone sending you flowers, instead of talking to you outright,” Laurent responded. Erasmus looked contemplative before giving a non-committal shrug. “But hey, I guess I can’t complain. It’s good for business.” 

Laurent had never been a romantic. His hand brushed the spine of Auguste’s old notebook. No, that had always been his brother’s job. 

Erasmus took his words as a joke and laughed. He was smiling as he paid and waved goodbye. Laurent tapped his fingers against the notebook as he watched the man leave. 

It seemed to Laurent that he was having to walk in Auguste’s shoes more than he had ever expected. 

 

****** 

 

The day the vase arrived it was all the office could talk about. Kallias responded to his gift with the kind of eloquence that Damen thought appropriate to the situation. 

“What the fuck?” Kallias said in disbelief. He started to smile, but then his expression turned serious. “This must be some kind of joke.” 

Damen looked at the flowers currently resting in a tasteful glass vase on the other man’s desk. They were bells. Small, white. Looked very dainty. Damen had no idea what the flowers were or what they meant. He found himself wondering if Laurent had picked out the flower himself and what he had been thinking. 

Kallias poked at one of the bells experimentally, as if it might be some kind of trick. 

“Who sent you the flowers?” Damen asked. 

Kallias shook his head. “Not a clue. There was no card.” 

Damen smiled. “I bet it was – what was his name again? Erasmus. From the holiday party.” 

The noise that Kallias made in response was somewhere between a choke and a laugh. “No,” he finally said. “I highly doubt that. I mean, I just met him at a party –.” Damen’s eyebrows arched higher and higher as Kallias’s cheeks reddened. 

“It’s definitely not him,” Kallias said finally. “And anyway, how would I ever find out? All that the bouquet had was the name of the florist.” 

“You could go to the florist, ask him – them about sending a bouquet back.” 

Kallias paused to consider Damen’s words. “This is ridiculous. I can’t do that.” He shook his head, as if he had only just made up his mind. “Anyway, uh,” Kallias started to frantically rearrange the papers on his desk, “I should go back to work. I’ve already spent too much time thinking about,” he gestured wildly to the vase, “whatever this is.”

Damen left as Kallias turned back to his laptop. It might have been his imagination, but he thought he saw Kallias smile at the vase just before he left. 

Damen walked back to his desk deep in thought. So Erasmus had not sent back a card either. Looked like Damen had more work to do. 

And if it happened to mean another trip back to the florist, well, that maybe wasn’t so bad. 

 

***** 

 

A bell went off to indicate a customer had walked in, and Laurent looked up from the counter instinctively. His gaze hardened when he saw that it was, once again, Damen. 

Damen walked up to the counter. He already had his wallet out. “Didn’t work. I’m going to need a new bouquet.” 

Laurent replied with deliberate slowness, “You didn’t think it worked, so you’re going to try the same tactic again.” 

“Kallias thinks it’s impossible that Erasmus sent him that bouquet. He’s not going to send flowers back, or try to contact the guy, or anything. If something is ever going to happen, it’s on me to make it happen.” 

Laurent frowned. “I don’t really understand why you care so much.” 

Damen took a deep breath and ran his fingers impatiently through his hair. Whatever he was about to say, it looked like it was quite the story, and Laurent – who normally hated making small talk with customers – found himself strangely curious to hear. 

“I got my brother a job at the company,” he started and then paused. Laurent made an affirmative noise. Just as he was starting to wonder where this was going, Damen continued. “And he was just – awful.” Damen let out a bitter laugh. “Just a terrible boss. Made his employees work overtime and made sure they didn’t report it. Kept lying to management about what was happening in his division. And there were all these warning signs, and I kept thinking – oh, it’s my brother, he’ll never do all of that. People came to me with evidence and I just kept making excuses.” 

Laurent wished he could say that he didn’t know the kind of willful blindness a brother could inspire. He nodded along as Damen spoke. 

“And eventually, I mean, things got so bad – it moved even higher up – and my brother did get fired. But he made Kallias’s life miserable. And I felt responsible for part of that, because I had known, and I hadn’t done anything. So along comes this nice guy at a party, only problem is he works in HR. The situation is almost perfect. Almost. It just – needs a little nudge.” 

“And you’re going to be that nudge?” Laurent asked, after clearing his throat. He tried to strike the same bored, indifferent tone he had had just a moment ago. He didn’t think he succeeded. But if Damen noticed any difference, he gave no indication. He just nodded. 

“So,” Damen said, leaning forward. “What’s a good flower?” 

Laurent sighed. “Erasmus seemed to know a lot about flowers.” 

“So let’s give him something – encouraging.” 

Laurent flipped through the pages of Auguste’s book. He finally said, with a touch of uncertainty, “Black-eyed susans are supposed to bring encouragement.” 

He looked up to see Damen frowning. “How can a flower be encouraging if it’s got black-eye in its name?” 

Laurent gave a snort he hoped sounded cool and aloof. “I think all these meanings come from a different time. This is all rooted in the Victorian era. They probably didn’t get into as many brawls back then.” 

“Their loss,” Damen said with a half-smile. He pulled out some cash from his wallet. “Let’s make this one anonymous, see how Erasmus responds.” 

Damen left after Laurent finished ringing up the order. Laurent’s gaze lingered on the door too long after Damen had gone. 

 

***** 

 

Erasmus came into the shop a few days later. He was smiling, and Laurent was surprised to feel the corner of his own mouth tugged up. After all, if Erasmus was back here to continue this game – Laurent tried not to pursue that line of thinking. He forcibly rearranged his features into an expression of what he hoped was polite curiosity. 

“Good news?” he asked. 

“There was another bouquet, but that’s not the main reason I’m smiling,” Erasmus answered. Before Laurent had the chance to ask more, Erasmus added. “I’ve been thinking – I want to send a bouquet back, but I need to make it more romantic. Red roses. Classic.” 

There was no need to consult with Auguste’s books about the meaning of _those_ flowers. Laurent’s eyebrows arched. “A bold move,” he finally said. 

“It can be a good thing to be bold, sometimes,” Erasmus said with a smile. 

Once the order was filled out and Erasmus had left, Laurent looked to see if he had any of Damen’s contact information on file. Luckily, the original order had required a number. Laurent picked up his phone and sent a text. 

“He’s sending roses back.” 

 

****** 

 

The first moment that Damen could get away from work, he was at the coffee shop. He hadn’t recognized the number that had texted him, but there was only one person who would send that message. 

“Roses,” he said, leaning against the counter. “Sounds serious.” 

“Yeah,” Laurent said. He shook his head. “There’s really no missing the meaning of those – I didn’t even need my brother’s book.” 

“Oh, that book you were looking at is actually your brother’s?” Damen asked. “I thought it was yours.” 

Laurent shook his head. “No, it was always my brother who loved to talk about the meaning of flowers. He always liked flowers. The shop was his idea, you know. He loved to talk about what he was ordering and what his plans for expansion were – and I’d listen, but I never paid that much attention. I always figured it was his. Never dreamt one day it would come to me, but when he passed away –.”

Laurent stopped for a moment, as if suddenly self-conscious. Damen did not know what to say. “I’m sorry for your loss.” After a moment, he added, “But even if the shop wasn’t yours to begin with, I think you’re doing a really nice job with it.” 

Laurent just shrugged his shoulder. It was clearly not a subject he often discussed. 

“Well,” Laurent said, and his voice had regained its clipped tone. “The order was filed today. It should arrive at your coworker’s desk tomorrow. It’s part of the store’s professional reputation.” 

“Yeah,” Damen said. “And I can’t imagine Kallias is going to be able to ignore the meaning of those particular flowers.” 

“Your bouquet sending days could be numbered,” Laurent pointed out. 

Damen hadn’t thought about that before. But it was true. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words would come out. Laurent looked as if he might say something, but he did not speak either. The silence lingered. 

Finally Damen said, “Yeah, I’ll be out of your hair soon enough.” 

“No more strange men barging in with even stranger requests,” Laurent added. 

“No more being dragged into half-baked matchmaking schemes.” Damen tried to smile. 

It was a strange realization to think about how much he was genuinely going to miss this. 

 

***** 

 

Laurent had just about closed up for the night when the phone rang. He picked up, ready to inform whoever it was that they’d stopped accepting phone orders an hour, but he hesitated when the caller gave a familiar name. 

“Uh, this is Kallias, I’m calling about an order I received.” 

“The red roses,” Laurent said. There was no need to check the system for the record. A noise of agreement came through the line. “What about them?” 

Kallias’s voice was hesitant. “My coworker tells me that I might know whoever it was who sent them. Is the name associated with the order by any chance –,” a long hesitation, and then, “Erasmus?” 

“Now, Kallias,” Laurent had to stifle a laugh. “The sender requested strict confidentiality.” 

Kallias responded with a resigned sigh. “I guess,” he said. “Can you tell me if I’m really off base with that name, at least?” 

Laurent didn’t answer right away. He thought about what Kallias might do if he told him the truth. He thought about what Damen would do. If he kept the truth about Erasmus from Kallias, would Damen come back in the store, determined once more to play matchmaker? 

It struck Laurent how crazy all these thoughts would have seemed only a month ago. 

“I’m going to say,” he finally answered, “that you might want to break out a nice suit. It looks like you’ll be having a date soon.” 

Kallias said, very quickly, “I’d like to place an order.” 

Laurent glanced at the clock. He’d never accepted a client order this late. He’d never dreamed of accepting a client order this late. He’d dreamed about the insults he could use on people who tried to order flowers this late. 

“We can’t get started on your order until tomorrow, but sure,” he said, helplessly. 

 

****** 

 

Damen had a new morning routine these days. He’d go to his desk, put down his things, get some coffee, and then check on Kallias. He’d long ago abandoned any real excuse for why he was always there. He just wanted to see if any new flowers had arrived. 

This morning when he walked over, he saw Kallias lying across his desk. He jumped when Damen asked if something was wrong. 

“I sent daffodils,” Kallias said, looking slightly guilty. 

Damen took a sip of coffee. “Why daffodils? Any special meaning?” 

Kallias looked at him in surprise. “No, do daffodils have some kind of hidden meaning?” Damen gave a small shrug. Kallias shook his head and continued, “They were apparently out of roses, and I – always liked daffodils?” 

Damen had to stifle a laugh. Weeks of fretting about the secret meaning of this flower or that, he’d almost forgotten that you could send a bouquet without overanalyzing everything about it first. As he walked back to his desk, he pulled out his phone and send Laurent a quick message asking the meaning of daffodils. 

“Apparently they mean clarity.” Laurent’s response was quick. “I have _no_ idea what Kallias was thinking when he chose them.” 

“Wonder what Erasmus will think,” Damen wrote back. He couldn’t help but grin. 

A few days later, another bouquet of roses arrived, even larger than the one before. This time, they were signed from Erasmus. 

Kallias almost died of shock. 

A few people were congratulation Kallias on the bouquet – the frequent gifts of flowers had provided the office gossip mill with plenty of grist – and Damen did his best to smile and give him encouragement. But all he could think was what possible pretext he had now to go back to the florist. 

Nikandros’s work anniversary was coming up soon, wasn’t it? He could get some flowers to celebrate that. But no, actually, that wouldn’t be for another month. 

Damen tried not to sigh. He would think of something. He had to. 

 

******

 

It took a long time, more than a few drafts, and the help of some after-work hours alcohol for Kallias to gather the nerves to send Erasmus a message.

“I got your bouquet. I loved the flowers. Is there any chance you’d like to meet up for drinks?”

He agonized over the message before hitting send and afterwards could barely bring himself to look at his phone. But only a few minutes later Erasmus had responded with an enthusiastic “Sure!” and a suggestion for a bar that wasn’t too far away. Kallias managed a smile and told himself that this might just work out after all. 

He wasn’t so confident the actual night of the date, as he stood by the bar and nervously tugged at his tie. But Erasmus walked in and said, “You look great.” 

Kallias smiled back. “Not as great as you look.”

They took a table and got to talking. Just like at the holiday party, the conversation quickly sparked, and they had both already gotten their drinks by the time Kallias broached the subject he’d been privately worrying about these past few days. 

“I’d have thought out of all people you would have been a stickler about the no-dating policy.” 

Erasmus just laughed. “It’s a terrible policy, we get complaints about it all the time. But it’s not up to me to decide. The higher ups will do what they want.” He paused to take a sip from his glass. Kallias could see how he was smiling. “But it doesn’t matter now. I already put in my two weeks notice.” 

Kallias did not even try to hide his surprise. “You’re leaving? Why?” 

“The exchange of flowers got me thinking. I wasn’t happy at work – I wanted to do something where I could help people connect, not keep them separate. My uncle’s had his own chocolate shop going for a while, and he said he’d seen exchanges like the one we had going before. He offered me a job a while ago. I finally decided to take him up on it.” 

Erasmus’s smile got slowly wider as he told the story, and by the end Kallias couldn’t help but smile too. “That’s amazing. Congratulations.” But even as he was talking, he realized something about the story didn’t seem right. “Wait, sorry, you said – exchanges?” 

Erasmus looked slightly confused. As if it were obvious, he said, “We sent each other all those bouquets.” 

Kallias laughed. “No, you sent me two bouquets. Anonymously. And then you put your name on the last one –.” This was bizarre. “Has someone else been sending you flowers?” And then a sudden, strange dread. “Did you mean to send the flowers to someone else?” 

“No, I definitely meant to send them to you,” Erasmus laughed, and some of that dread faded. Curiosity replaced it. “I received three bouquets, and each time I asked the florist to send flowers back to whoever sent me flowers. I think the fact that you got all three indicates it was always you. Someone must have been sending them on your behalf.” Erasmus’s brow knit in confusion. “Do you know anyone who would do that?” 

Everyone had always asked Kallias about the flowers. Each time a bouquet had arrived. 

But only Damen had waited around, week after week, to see what would happen. 

“I suspect I might,” Kallias answered with a disbelieving shake of his head. 

 

******* 

 

Damen checked his email in the morning before heading to work. There was the usual junk – some sales emails, a new meeting on his calendar, a quick note regarding budgets. 

There was no email from Laurent, which disappointed Damen more than it should have. Laurent had no reason to email him, after all. 

He was just about to give up on his email when he noticed there was one message that was unusual. It was from Kallias. The subject read “Three visits to the florist?” and the message just said “You must have been pretty dedicated.” 

Damen let out a bark of a laugh. 

Maybe dedicated was the right word. 

But it was time to be honest with himself. He liked Kallias, and was happy for him. But this hadn’t been about Kallias, or Kastor, not really. Not by the end. 

He looked up the hours for Laurent’s store and called as soon as the shop opened. 

“Any chance I could take you out for coffee?” he asked. “Or should I send you some flowers anonymously first?”


End file.
